


Exception Handling

by StHoltzmann



Series: New Toys [3]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: "strictly scientific" relationship, BDSM, Chair Bondage, Consensual Kink, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Fluff and Smut, For Science!, Fucking Machines, LGBTQ Female Character, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Remote Control, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StHoltzmann/pseuds/StHoltzmann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Exception handling is the process of responding to the occurrence, during computation, of exceptions – anomalous or exceptional conditions requiring special processing – often changing the normal flow of program execution." </p><p>Holtzmann had an annoying day at work and is looking for some catharsis. You're ready for your second round as the test subject for her "sexual gratification devices." </p><p>At least, you think you're ready...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exception Handling

**Author's Note:**

> Third in the [New Toys](http://archiveofourown.org/series/535345) series.

_Girl, you really got me now  
_ _You got me so I can't sleep at night_

A Finnish labmate of yours with an inexplicable and unfortunate love for Van Halen is playing the 1978 cover of the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me” so loudly on his headphones that you can hear every word. You’d swear he’s played it more than three times already this morning. It’s proving extremely difficult to get out of your head.

It’s been a week or two (who are you kidding: it's been exactly 13 days) since Holtzmann first texted you to come over and test one of her devices. You’re grateful for the rush of work in your department: there are hapless new undergrad trainees, a battalion of hapless new postdocs, and very little time to wonder when you’re going to hear from Holtzmann again. It’s also meant very little time for your own research, which is why you’re here so early this morning—the entire floor is practically deserted around sunrise, unless someone’s been working all night. If only Seppälä there hadn’t had the same idea.

 _Girl, you really got me goin'  
_ _You got me so I don't know what I'm doin'_

You turn up the volume on your own headphones a little more, and press them more tightly to your ears. The more work you get done now, the more likely you’ll be able to sneak out if…when Holtzmann texts you again.You're ready–you have a change of underwear–and Holtzmann’s boxers, washed and folded—at the bottom of your bag.

In the afternoon, things start to get busy. When you hear yet another batch of undergrads on tour coming down the hall, you grab your bag and bolt for the emergency stairs. You make a beeline for the mostly empty conference room where the newbies were given lunch earlier. There are still a few unopened tubs of hummus and baba ghanoush, so you snag them and head out to find somewhere quiet to eat. Your stipend from Holtzmann has shown up in your account, but waste not, want not, right? (Never mind the faint gnawing of guilt that you feel for the fact that you’re being paid…)

When your phone buzzes, you nearly drop it in your hummus. It had better not be your mentor asking where you are.

And it isn’t.

_You free tomorrow afternoon? Got a new prototype. Think you’ll like it._

Argh. Tomorrow? You’re disappointed and excited at the same time. And if you do the earlybird thing again tomorrow, you can pull it off.

 _3 pm?_ you reply.

_Roger that._

You feel motivated to get some more work done, even if conditions aren’t optimal today. You head back upstairs, stash a couple of tubs in a fridge on your floor (after giving them a good Sharpie’ing with your name), and get back to it.

* * *

You got up early today and you've gotten a lot done again. You’re about to head out the door to your … appointment when you suddenly envision Holtzmann’s sad fridge. You double back and grab the two tubs you stashed yesterday. You can pick up some crackers at a bodega along the way—for whatever reason, the thought of buying food to share doesn’t trigger any guilty feelings in you. Then you see your name scrawled all over the containers and you sigh. Imagine Holtzmann saying your name…you have to admit that you’d like to hear it, but it’d screw up the agreement. You grab a thick Sharpie and thoroughly black out your name.

It’s one minute till 3 when you arrive at Holtzmann’s warehouse—cutting it close because you wound up getting a nice bag of pita, a couple of apples, a can of spiced eggplant and tomatoes, and some dolmas at the bodega. You go ahead and knock, but there’s no answer. Maybe she’s doing something in the back and can’t hear you.

But there’s no answer at 3:05 or 3:15 either. You wonder if it’s OK to text her, and finally, at 3:30, sitting on the curb, you do. You can’t decide what to write, and finally you settle with:

_Hey, everything OK?_

In a couple of minutes, you get a reply:

_auto: Got my hands full. Put on your safety glasses, take iodine, seek shelter, &/or duck as appropriate_

OK, if she’s sending an auto-reply, she must be pretty busy. You sigh and sit there for a moment in the early October sun. It's getting cloudier and you wonder if there will be a storm in the next few days.

Finally you tell yourself that if Holtzmann is _that_ busy, it's probably for a good reason, and you should go. You’re walking back through the mostly empty industrial area surrounding Holtzmann’s place when you hear a motorcycle engine not too far away. You glance toward it idly and then do a double-take. There’s a radiation hazard symbol with a heart in the middle of it on the rider’s helmet. It strikes you as very Holtzmann. You turn back without thinking and make your way back to the warehouse.

Holtzmann’s getting off her bike, back to you. She’s in her Ghostbusters jumpsuit, and it’s not in good shape—soaked with green gunk, charred, and torn.

“Shit, are you okay?” you blurt.

Holtzmann turns toward you. She pulls off her open-face helmet, and her hair tumbles out in a burst of wild blond curls. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy action movie, but it still catches your heart. She’s got some smudges on her face and some green stuff in her hair, but she seems to be intact. “You’re still here! Yeah, just another day at the office,” she says, with a smile. “Started out fun and then got real tedious. We should’ve been done by 1…”

You smile back, relieved. “I got it. Happens to all of us. Usually without the gunk though.” She laughs and you continue: “I guess you probably need a shower and some rest—should I head home?”

“Your call,” Holtzmann says, with a sidelong glance at you through her motorcycle goggles. “Rest is overrated.” You wonder if she actually rushed back here just for you—or rather, her research—and feel your cheeks warm slightly.

“I’m already here,” you say. “And I brought a bite to eat.” You want to tell her you don’t do that for anyone else. Being in the sciences is rough enough without people expecting you to be homeroom mom. But then you’d have to explain why she’s an exception, and how she became an exception so quickly, and you don’t even have a good answer for that to yourself.

Holtzmann makes a pondering face, which results in her lower lip sticking out slightly. You try not to stare. She says, “…Huh, I think I _am_ hungry.”

 _Holtzmann, your stomach is supposed to tell you that without your having to check_ , you think, but you manage not to say anything. She lets you into the warehouse and wheels her bike somewhere out back.

You put your bag down in what passes for her kitchen. Holtzmann comes back in and says “Gotta go decontaminate. If I’m not back in 10, send in the frogmen.”

You nod and poke around the cabinets until you find a damaged toolbox holding utensils, next to a stack of mismatched plates. Actually, what you find is a stack of four items: three plates and a frisbee, which you refuse to count as a plate.

There’s no can opener to be found, but you have a multitool in your bag and you get the can open. By the time you’ve got everything set out, Holtzmann is back. She’s wearing only a pair of Doraemon boxers and a black tank top, along with the necklace you'd only seen peeking out from her shirt before.  _Screw U_. There has to be a story behind that.

You were not prepared to see so much of Holtzmann, and you try to avert your eyes. If you ever did human subjects research—which you don’t, in your field, but still—you would have already cancelled an experiment way before it got to this stage. Even the snacking stage.Everything about the situation is irregular and inappropriate and you should probably say so.

But Holtzmann is unfazed. And it’s her rodeo. And you’re not the boss of her. Right?

Holtzmann’s hair is gunk-free now, but already perfectly dry and back in its arrangement of explosive curls on top with the sides pinned back. You have to wonder what kind of hairdryer she’s using, and how many laws—state, federal, physics—it breaks. “I am hungry,” Holtzmann announces, sitting down. “Food that is not pizza! Stop the presses.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say nervously.

“We don’t stand on ceremony around here,” she says, then tilts her head and considers. “What does that saying even mean, anyway? Oh hey, hold on!” She bounces back up and rummages around in a drawer full of variously-sized bolts. “Here! I can contribute something.”Holtzmann plops a brightly-colored tube of Gummy Choco on the table.

You raise your eyebrows. “Dessert?”

Holtzmann looks as though she’s biting back some innuendo in reply, and you regret handing her a straight line. As it were.

You cover by passing her a plate. Eating together is fun but strange; the small talk is difficult from your point of view, since you’re not supposed to reveal anything about yourself. But you get through it.

“You need to go home?” Holtzmann asks, when you’re both done. “Or…”

“I cleared my schedule,” you say, trying not to blush. “So it’s _your_ call.”

Holtzmann shoots finger-guns at you and says, “Meet you upstairs!”

By the time you wash up, strip down, and join her, Holtzmann has thrown on a pair of green, high-waisted Donegal tweed trousers, suspenders, and a pair of vintage-looking metal-framed safety glasses. She’s still only got the tank on top, though. You’re finding her biceps very distracting. And while her hands are small, you’d bet that they’re strong. Good for…

…

…

… soldering and things. Yes. Soldering and things.

You’re both relieved and disappointed when she pulls on a mechanic’s jacket, but at least that frees your attention enough to look around and see what’s in store for you this time.“I fast-forwarded a bit,” says Holtzmann. She grins. “Catharsis.”

“Okay…” You’re not sure what that means. There’s nothing in the room yet, so something more complex, or something even more untested, or…?

“Oh. This one requires your birthday suit.” She raises her eyebrows at you. It’s less like asking permission (though you already gave it, in the paperwork) and more like a challenge.

“Sure.” You take your underthings off right there, briefly emboldened, and put them in your bag. And here you were so prepared! “Ah, these are yours.” You toss Holtzmann’s boxers to her. She catches them, rolls them up, and shoves them into one of the deep pockets of her jacket.

Holtzmann disappears around the corner and comes back a moment later, dragging a chair. It’s made of sturdy wood, with a padded back, seat, and headrest—and it very visibly has a set of several leather restraints. The proportions are a little odd: thicker in some places than you’d expect, and maybe with few extra pieces. You think you catch a glimpse of something under the chair, but you’re not sure. “These,” says Holtzmann, tapping the wrist restraints, “are partly practical. But—studies show! eight out of ten cats agree!—they’re also fun.”

You nod, wondering what else is part of this scheme.

“This setup is pretty analog compared to last time. Pretty straightforward.” She grabs your hand and pulls you toward the seat. Her fingers feel like electricity where they touch yours. “And these one more time.” She settles the blackout goggles onto your head. 

Then there’s a few minutes of silence as Holtzmann works. First, a strap across your forehead makes sure that your head will be motionless. Then your arms and your wrists. You can feel Holtzmann’s fingers sliding along the edge of the soft leather, making sure it’s not too tight or too loose. You can also feel yourself reacting;you’re getting turned on just from this much contact. Holtzmann is humming under her breath, but you can’t quite place the tune. Admittedly, you’re not concentrating on that very hard.

She keeps going—next it’s your thighs, and then your ankles. You can feel your calves, cradled by the curves of the chair’s unusually wide legs.

You’re trying to breathe normally and not as though you’re already ready.

You hear Holtzmann walking away, but then you hear her come back, accompanied by a rolling sound. It sounds heavier than last time. Something opens on hinges, and you hear her taking things out. You feel something settle on the back of the chair, behind—and maybe over?—your head. Then something clicks into the underside of the seat below you. “Get ready,” Holtzmann whispers into your ear. You feel her warm breath on your ear and sigh.

Then back she goes into her control booth. You try to think of a way that you could casually tell her that she can stay in the room with you, but a) you can’t, and b) uh, aren’t _you_ supposed to be capable of scientific detachment? Aren’t you here purely for research? _So inappropriate._

You’re still arguing with yourself when there’s a whirring behind your head. You sense that something is passing your face and making its way toward your chest.

“S’posed to be automatic, when it's done,” Holtzmann says, over a speaker that must be in the ceiling somewhere. She sounds as if she’s talking to herself, and you can hear lyrics in the background. She adds, “RC will do for now…”

RC? Remote control? Is Holtzmann in there actively controlling whatever’s about to happen? You realize you’re smiling slightly. You’d shake your head at yourself, if you could move your head…and then your attention is grabbed and directed elsewhere.

Something has cupped both of your breasts; it’s just gently supporting them, but you know something else must be coming. And there it is: a stroke right across each of your nipples. It’s so light, like a fingertip brushing you through a thin t-shirt, but you want to feel it again. There’s a pause, and then another stroke. This continues for a while; not synchronized precisely between the two nipples, so you’re always reacting to one touch or another.

Then it misses, and touches just the side of your breast. You hear a door open and close, and then the delicate touch is back in the right place.

You’re being lulled into a soft haze when suddenly, a flick. It almost hurts, but mostly it just feels good. A couple more flicks on the other side, but not in any pattern that you can relax into.Then there’s a pinch and a tug. Your arm and chest muscles twitch in response, and you can’t tell if you audibly gasped or not. More pinches, gradually increasing in intensity. The better it feels, the harder it pinches, as your pleasure response overwhelms your pain response. It tugs harder, pulling your nipples harder than any of your exes have ever dared. It—Holtzmann—has found your precise limit, and it’s further than any woman has ever pushed you before. You are definitely very, very wet by now, and you wonder if climaxing just from nipple play is more than just an appealing-sounding myth.

Your breasts are released, and you feel a delicious burning in your worked-over nipples. Before you’ve had a chance to thoroughly savor it, you feel your thighs…moving? After a moment you realize that some parts of the chair must be hinged and powered. The seat of the chair is splitting, bringing your legs apart. You hear whirring below you, and something pushes up against your labia, taking long strokes up to your clitoris and back down. You imagine Holtzmann controlling a joystick, and it’s pretty hot—though not as hot as it would be if…you cancel that line of thought and just enjoy the feeling.

It trails down you one last time and there is a pause. A dramatic pause—you know something is about to happen, and you have a pretty good guess as to what.

There it is: something circling the sensitive opening to your vagina. You realize you’re biting your lip, but this time you can’t stop yourself. In a few moments, you’re only thinking of that feeling, so it’s a surprise when it abruptly slides into you. It’s wide around, the better to stimulate that outside opening with vibration, and it’s thrusting inside of you, like a strap-on that’s not strapped-on to anyone. It’s working up a gentle rhythm. You want to writhe, but all you can manage is the tiniest of hip wiggles. The only thing that you know is that you want something more.

Then the whirring changes its pitch. “Ah—!” You can’t help but cry out, because suddenly it’s fast and intense. It’s pounding into you. It’s deep—not too deep, but it’s reaching you somewhere that isn’t usually reachable.

You are dimly aware that you’re grunting a little, lips pressed together, but there’s nothing you can do about it. And then it’s twisting, and not like a normal Rabbit vibrator. It seems to be everywhere. You can feel your whole body shaking, even in the restraints, as it plunges in and out of you. You briefly wonder how much of it you can take. It’s definitely overstimulating, but you realize that’s just what you were longing for a moment ago. You forget the question of how much you can withstand and just give yourself over to the powerful thrusting for as long as it continues.

Then two things happen at the same time: a powerful, vibrating pressure surrounds your clitoris, and the thrusting apparatus inside of you—opens? Grows? Whatever happens, there are now two units inside you.

The smaller one moves and then very, very precisely hits your G-spot and starts to vibrate. The vibrations inside and outside alternate, settling into a rhythm. It doesn’t take long till you think you’re about to come; you need to come…

But then the vibrations slow into more of a pulse, and the thrusting slows. This also feels delicious, but you really, really want to climax.

The rhythm returns, with both vibrators even stronger than they were before. You can feel a constellation of extreme pleasure coming together from the various points of stimulation. You’re ready to—

And then it subsides again. Gentle, purring vibration, and slow, deep strokes. But you were so close to coming. You _need_ to come.

Without meaning to, you whimper.

Immediately, the extreme thrumming of the rhythm dancing between your clitoris and your G-spot returns. You’re gasping for breath because somehow, somehow it feels even better than it did before. There’s a tight, full feeling around your G-spot, like something is about to explode.

Before you know it, your climax is enveloping you. It is _unbelievably_ intense. You feel a release inside you, and you see fireworks behind your eyelids. You can feel unfamiliar muscles deep inside of you contracting in a profound spasm. The orgasm is overwhelming, a series of bursts that goes on for longer than you think you can bear. 

You might have shouted.

Finally, it drifts away. You feel the pleasurable wet friction of the apparatus sliding out of you. More whirring, and the seat gently closes. Your breathing is ragged and you’re only gradually returning to awareness of the world outside your own body.

“House lights up,” says Holtzmann, nearby.

“Muh,” you agree.

She releases your head and removes the goggles. You’re blinking even in the low light, but you try to focus quickly. You don’t want to miss the sight of Holtzmann kneeling next to you, carefully undoing the rest of the straps, head bent over your lap and legs. You don’t move to get up—you’re not sure you can yet.

“Ma’am, does the phrase ‘blended orgasm’ mean anything to you?”

“Ohhhh…” You lick your lips and Holtzmann passes you a mug of water. “It does now. I’ve never felt that…combination of climaxes before.”

Holtzmann does some kind of ridiculous martial arts pose. “Flawless victory!” she shouts.

You laugh weakly. “Um…uh…am I going to short out your equipment?”

“Huh? Oh, did we make it rain?”

You can feel your face turning red, and Holtzmann grins wickedly.

“Did we—pop the water balloon? Did we…spill the goldfish bowl? Did we…breach the dike?”

You can feel your flush spreading, at the same time that you can’t stop laughing. “Yeah, yeah, we did.”

“Bonus!” Holtzmann exclaims. “And don’t worry, everything important is sealed.” Then her brows pinch together a little and she says, “I said I’d be inside, but I came out because the signal was degrading.”

This takes you a moment to process. “Oh, you were out here with the controller? The signal wasn’t making it through the wall ?”

“Bingo.” She gives you a sideways glance, her catlike eyes unreadable.

So she was actually watching you, in the same room with you this time. “I told you that would be OK in the…uh…initial paperwork,” you say.

She throws her hands up in a perfect imitation of Neil deGrasse Tyson. “Watch out, we got a badass over here. OK. Anyway, I got a useful data point—from what I could see, I think I need to stop ignoring your mouth.”

You didn’t think you could blush harder, but you do. You must be red down to your toes, but you carefully avoid glancing down. You try to change the subject. All that comes to mind is: “So, the thrusting motor—about 1/4 horsepower, torque about 50 inch-pounds?” Oh, that was the wrong thing to say…she’s going to ask questions, and you’re going to disqualify yourself. Damn.

Holtzmann claps. “Good enough for government work! Next time: post-test quiz show.”

She didn’t seem to have processed what an odd comment that was for you to make. Given her previous technical explanations, she must live in a mental world where these things are common knowledge…one way to save oneself a lot of trouble, you suppose. It’s an appealing thought.

You shower, get dressed, and head down the stairs, but you pause halfway. Holtzmann is obviously in a much better mood than when she arrived home. She’s humming again _and_ doing a little dance around a drafting table as she makes notes on a blueprint. A lot of pelvis is involved. It’s goofy and adorable and _totally hot_.

She doesn’t stop when you finish going down the stairs and approach, just grins at you and keeps dancing as she marks things down. “Lightbulb,” she says, gesturing over her head.

Once Holtzmann gets her ideas down, you fill out a feedback form, say goodbye and head out into the cool evening, alone. You’ve exited the subway and are walking down the darkening street to your place when you suddenly remember what Holtzmann was humming. The lyrics run through your head as you climb the stairs to your door, where no one is waiting for you. It seems like a message you should listen to, but maybe, if the stars align, Holtzmann could be an exception. You sigh at your runaway emotions and go inside. 

 _If you're looking for love_  
_Get a heart made of steel ‘cause you know that love kills_  
_Don't go messing with love  
_ _It'll hurt you for real, don't you know that love kills_

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a while to get started on this one, but it was fun to write once I got going. I've started the next two installments; current projection is 5 stories altogether. But that might change, and I might either go back and fill in some parts or continue the story at the end. Thanks for all the comments so far! I love them however long or short they are.
> 
> \- ERRATA -
> 
> Van Halen, "You Really Got Me Going": [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9X6e7uctAww), [lyrics](http://genius.com/Van-halen-you-really-got-me-lyrics) (not that the lyrics really NEED any interpretation)
> 
> Robyn, "Love Kills": [ "video" (sound only)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBJB9xnXTWE), [lyrics](http://genius.com/Robyn-love-kills-lyrics)
> 
> [H. Ümit Sayin: "Doors of Female Orgasmic Consciousness: New Theories on the Peak Experience and Mechanisms of Female Orgasm and Expanded Sexual Response"](http://search.proquest.com/openview/c64ed5beab480fccd50e7e167065d7d0/1?pq-origsite=gscholar) in _Neuroquantology_ (Note: This journal covering the "intersection of neuroscience and quantum mechanics" is largely regarded as nonsense in our reality, but in the alternate universe of Ghostbusters, where you catch ghosts with proton streams, I figure it's a legit and well-regarded publication.)
> 
> [LELO: Blended orgasm](https://www.lelo.com/blog/blended-orgasms/) \-- commercial sex toy site, obviously NSFW.
> 
> [Gummy Choco](http://www.candyblog.net/blog/item/meiji_gummy_choco/). Find it at your local Japanese or other Asian grocery store.


End file.
